"Momma's Worry" by TS Hawkins

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Sunday, February 17, 2013

Noodle noosed in cheesed macaroni dalliancesFreedom tastes like we never knew who we wereFried in white washed ho-cakesWe gorge tall tales of master’s remnantsCarpet bag leftoversHunt for complacent collard green dreamsSojourn truth in watermelon rinds and bread line hand outsDabble off china patterned stereotypesWe dish legacy in sambo battered hope becauseFreedom tastes like we never knew who we wereCompressed to blissed ignoranceWaffle history in syruped hand-me-downsWondering why our children just play chicken to successCalling the dozens for support and always housebound with egg on their facesTeaching them that take-out is the way out; a step upProving their not bottom feedersNot knowing they’re just feeding off the bottom of others home cooked desiresBraised; grape balmedBottle canned idiomsShake ‘n baked to fizz through poursPonder why clutched purses dredge injustice Freedom tastes like we never knew who we wereBecause we lap bland promisesAnd salted neverminds of “we’ll get there soon”Without doing the workStep into the kitchenCarve intended destiny to the small of tainted tomesRemedy rancid rectal recipes We’re more than the muted mélange of safe hued attainments Blood soaked mountaintopsOr pistol sieved speakeasies MeetMarinade Medallion mendacitiesBlock chop fettered portraits flavored in forced subordination Stock verity; al dente Firm in the belief that seared memories are just as palette-ableSimmer to raw boneMarrow nape-dBrazed royallyIt’s alright to be savored medium-wellSo, invite Harriet to the table when company comes…she’s been waiting…

We picket for the unborn; we carton the missing, shush the battered and molest rape victims into believing it’s their fault. In an attempt to generate peace, we've become pieces of the machine that churn our embryos, our girls, our women, our females into seclusion; water-boarding their freedom and manufacturing their wombs with assembly-line legislature. Prisoners to their gender, we, society, have become the parasitic conjoined twin of the dogmatic cycle extending life sentences of invalidation. With scantily clad images, pejorative song lyrics, and abusive homes, we teach them to be the missing, the raped, and the forgotten. ~TS Hawkins

The landlord fails to change the locks; evicted tenants make a revengeful return and set the apartment building on fire! Flames, firefighters and fear of the unknown pen a hilariously tragic haiku over and over again. From homelessness to a hotel that looked like the backdrop for any American horror film, poetry became the vehicle trudging these two souls to sanity!